


I got this fever, fever burning inside

by CourtneyCourtney



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bottom Jesse McCree, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Fuck Or Die, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Multiple Orgasms, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Recall, Sex Pollen, Top Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtneyCourtney/pseuds/CourtneyCourtney
Summary: Hanzo has heard stories of this 'weapon', the most lurid tales courtesy of McCree, naturally. A libido accelerant Talon injects intravenously, giving its victims the option of mauling a stranger for sexual release, forcing themselves on a teammate and ruining any trust built between the two, or - to quote Jesse's turn of phrase - dying of "blue balls."In other words, not a way for someone like Jesse McCree to go. Not if Hanzo is determined to help. It would be a shame to lose a colleague as altruistic and reliable as McCree to a weapon so primitive.If he has to choke out the voice at the back of his mind questioning his own altruism in performing this act, then so be it.(or, McCree gets sex pollened by Talon, and Hanzo helps him out the way any good friend would (Really. Stop gagging, Genji.))





	I got this fever, fever burning inside

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t tag it, but I will warn here that this story contains a few brief allusions to rape (one of which is in the summary, actually). They’re made in passing and are not graphic, but they _are_ there so people know.
> 
> I drafted this approximately five million years ago, so most of the descriptors of Hanzo are based on his original in-game appearance (no piercings or undercut yet, sorry).
> 
> Title from the NEEDTOBREATHE song "Great Night," which I listened to an embarrassing number of times while working on this
> 
>  **Edited** on 6/5/17 -- threw in a sentence in the first paragraph to flesh out a callback later in the story. Don't write the ending first, kids.

Hanzo doesn’t know how long he’s been here, staring at the gray tiled ceiling. There isn't a clock anywhere on the walls that he can see, no windows for an archaic way to measure the passage of time. It can't have been that long, or else the Talon flunkies torturing him would be doing worse damage. They seem to be biding their time while they wait for more serious orders. Then again, he did pass out around the second time they used nano-technology to heal and then re-break his legs.

It had been a simple recon mission, just him and McCree in Andorra. They were sent to scout out a potential nest of Talon activity and report back immediately. Things were never that simple with McCree though.

Hanzo is more worried for his friend's safety than his own, to be honest. In the months since he's joined Overwatch, since Jesse's practiced affability evolved into a genuine friendship, Hanzo has heard whispers of McCree's old unit. If he hadn't believed the rumors, Hanzo would have known the moment one of the Talon guards spotted them, calling Jesse out by name. They've done superficial damage to Hanzo - a few fingernails pulled, the fractures to his legs - but who knows what these traitors are doing to McCree. Hanzo hasn't seen the other man since Talon got the drop on them. However long ago that was.

Across the room, the control pad on the wall beeps. It whirs to life, metal door retracting into the wall. Hanzo scowls, then turns his head to face the enemy.

The doorway is empty. Hanzo frowns, then glances at the wall keypad. The lights blink, then die out. A loud, wrong-sounding _ca-chunk_ echoes around the room, and then the restraints around Hanzo's hands and feet retract as well. Huh. Must be a power glitch.

With a groan, Hanzo moves to sit, swinging his legs over the side of the metal table. Sucking in a breath, he wiggles his bare toes, then rolls his ankles. Everything hurts like hell, but everything seems to be in its right place. He checks that the bones in his lower legs are aligned, then slowly lowers himself off the gurney. Light bursts across his vision at the sharpness of the pain, but he presses on. It's agony, putting pressure on his legs, but he _can_ do it. His muscles aren't completely shredded, and his clothes are still mostly intact, yellow scarf still somehow stuck in his hair. Hanzo will move and trust adrenaline to get him the rest of the way out.

There isn't a guard posted outside his door, Hanzo notices. If there were he probably wouldn't have made it this far. As it is, he gets a few feet down the hall before anyone notices. The Talon guard that comes for him is good, but Hanzo is better, tackling the operative and knocking him unconscious before the other man can draw his weapon. Hanzo takes his gun, not bothering to check if the man is alive or dead before rounding on the next guard that's moved in behind him. That one, he knows without checking, is dead before he hits the ground.

The rest of the hall is suspiciously empty, the doors to each room stuck open. Hanzo keeps his guard up and his eyes open for McCree, checking each room he passes. It feels like a trap, like something terrible is waiting around the corner, but Hanzo won't leave without his partner. **  
**

It's a matter of pride, partly, a matter of honor. More importantly, though, Jesse is a friend. A good one at that. It had taken a long time for them to stop being suspicious of one another, to "bury the hatchet" as McCree put it. But now Hanzo likes him. Misses him when he's away. Worries about his safety. Thinks about him more than he'd ever care to admit.

He moves quickly down the hall despite the phantom pain of broken limbs. Jesse is only four doors down, in a laboratory room similarly-equipped to the one Hanzo just came from. Hanzo enters it and stops short only a few feet in.

McCree is there, unguarded. He's sitting up on the metal gurney at the room's center, not strapped down though his arms and legs bear faint pink marks like he had been until recently. He squints up at Hanzo, looking a bit sick.

There are several things wrong with the scene before him, primarily the blood. Jesse has his left, metal hand clamped over the inside of his right elbow, but it isn't enough to cover the bright red trickling down his forearm. Behind the other man, Hanzo sees an IV, its blood-tipped needle now swinging free and trailing liquid from the bag onto the floor.

Second is the nudity. Not that he has a problem with it, Hanzo thinks as his own dick gives an interested twitch. It's only that Jesse usually prefers to be covered up, serape over a chest plate over a button-up over an undershirt. Hanzo knows how those layers go, cataloguing them many times over the past few months. It's odd, then, that he'd choose to remain in just a pair of (dreadful) cactus-print boxers despite the rest of his clothes being strewn across the lab floor, practically at his feet.

Thirdly is how McCree hasn't moved. He stays seated on the gurney, free hand clutching the edge with a white-knuckled grip.

It's a trap, Hanzo thinks. It has to be, and yet he can't force himself to leave. Not without McCree.

"Jesse," Hanzo says, taking a tentative step forward.

"Stop," says McCree. Hanzo does. He doesn't turn back, though. Not yet.

Jesse swallows, squinting at him. "You gotta get out of here," he warns.

Hanzo starts to protest. Behind him, the control pad on the wall beeps, whirring back to life. A series of lights blink, and then the door is sliding out of the wall, sliding close before Hanzo can react and Jesse can do anything other than swear in its general direction.

"Shit," says McCree rather emphatically, and Hanzo agrees. He knows its useless, but he tries anyway to get a hand between the door and the wall, to pry it open. He tries a handful of codes on the keypad before growling in frustration. Trapped. **  
**

Turning back to McCree, he takes stock of the other man's appearance. Hanzo notices goosebumps on his arms and legs, notices how shallow he's breathing.

"What is it?" he growls. It's a trap, but he isn't leaving. Not without...

Jesse groans into his right hand. " 'meros," he grumbles, moving his palm up to brush the hair out of his face. "That's fucking..." He pauses, then tries again, enunciating for Hanzo's sake. "Project Himeros."

It's Hanzo's turn to swear. He's heard stories of this 'weapon', the most lurid tales courtesy of McCree, naturally. A libido accelerant Talon injects intravenously, giving its victims the option of mauling a stranger for sexual release, forcing themselves on a teammate and ruining any trust built between the two, or - to quote Jesse's turn of phrase - dying of "blue balls." Now that he’s looking, Hanzo can see the outline of McCree’s cock, hard and straining against the fabric of his underwear.

It’s obviously more complicated than that. Doctor Ziegler ensured all the new recruits understood that, knew that it wasn’t an exaggeration. Project Himeros was a continual fight-or-flight reaction, a drug that blocked ones’ sympathetic nervous system from releasing the neurotransmitters that let you calm down. In the past, at least, it could lead to heart failure due to increased activity and arterial spasms, not to mention the tissue death that occurred elsewhere due to decreased blood flow.

In other words, not a way for someone like Jesse McCree to go. Not if Hanzo is determined to help. It would be a shame to lose a colleague as altruistic and a friend as reliable as McCree to a weapon so primitive.

If he has to choke out the voice at the back of his mind questioning his own altruism in performing this act, then so be it.

Overwatch had contingency plans, of course. Back in the glory days, it was standard protocol to assign a partner, not only for Project Himeros but in case of other emergencies where consent might not be 100% possible. It wasn't mandatory anymore, but Dr. Ziegler had given everyone the forms and the option after her talk. Hanzo had skimmed the information then decided to leave it blank. He wasn't going to burden another agent with something like that if it even existed, he had reasoned at the time. So far, it hadn't been an issue. For McCree, though...

"Who is your person?" Hanzo asks. "Which agent did you — “

"That don't matter right now," Jesse hisses. "Not like this, not now. There ain't time t' be dickin' around."

Hanzo groans and runs a hand down his face. He knows. Of course he knows that.

“Hanzo, please,” Jesse begs, voice thick with emotion. “I lo— “ He cuts himself off with a hard swallow. “I like you a lot, partner. Now either help me out or get out, ‘fore I do somethin’ stupid.”

Hanzo snarls. “We’re locked in,” he points out.

Jesse throws his hands up. “Then put me out of my misery! Shoot me if you gotta, just…”

Hanzo's hold tightens on the gun he nearly forget he had in hand. A better soldier _would_ shoot him. A better friend might even do the same.

Hanzo shifts his weight between feet. He can’t claim to be either.

Jesse looks up at him then, really looks up. It's funny, Hanzo thinks, and maybe a touch pathetic that he gets caught up in McCree's eyes. They're almost always blocked by his hat or hair, or just by the other man's habit of squinting. For months, Hanzo wasn't sure what color they were exactly other than "not blue." Now that exact shade of amber brown can stop him dead in his tracks. He can pick out a thousand flecks of gold in McCree's irises from across the room. Funny.

Hanzo aims up at the ceiling to McCree's right. If this room is anything like the one he was being kept in, there's a panel holding a camera and audio recording equipment, producing footage for Talon officials to review the 'progress' of their subordinates. It's hidden, but Hanzo had enough time lying beneath it in his own holding room to notice the slight variance in color, to pick out the shine of wires in the cracks. There's a weird crackling pop noise when his rounds hit it, but no debris falls from the ceiling, which is good. Hanzo turns back to the panel of buttons by the door, checking for any hidden recording devices there as well. The less footage that exists of this, the better.

Hanzo crosses the room slowly but surely. He can’t decide what it feels like, if he’s walking into a minefield or through a dream. He removes the scarf from his hair as he goes, stopping once he’s standing before McCree.

He reaches out. Jesse flinches, but Hanzo grabs his right arm regardless. With an assurance he doesn’t fully understand, Hanzo winds his scarf around his friend _’s_ gash, pressing and pulling until the bleeding has stopped. The blood can be washed out; action is more important that sentiment right now.

He ties it off, watches the gold silk flutter against McCree’s tanned skin.

Jesse reaches up with both hands then, grabbing Hanzo’s face before he can stop the other man. His metal hand leaves a bloody mark on Hanzo's right cheek, streaking in his beard. Hanzo can’t find it in himself to care, not when McCree’s breath is hot against his lips.

"You sure?" says Jesse, holding himself back, shivering with the amount of effort it takes. Hanzo smooths his hands down Jesse's forearms, trying to will away the goosebumps. He stops, gripping McCree's elbows as he closes the distance between their lips. Against him, Jesse stops breathing, just for a second. Hanzo presses forward, trying to convey that it's okay, that Jesse needs to let go. His hands travel up Jesse's biceps, drawing the other man closer.

McCree surges into it then, hands flying, scrabbling to remove what remains of Hanzo's kyudo-gi, to tangle in his black hair.

The ambiance of the room leaves something to be desired, Hanzo muses. The scent of antiseptic is nearly nauseating, the fluorescent lights and white walls painfully bright. It definitely isn’t the setting Hanzo had desired for such a moment (not that he had concrete _plans_ for this occurrence, only a meandering imagination and some semblance of a romantic streak). There’s a sour taste in his mouth, and he’s mildly disappointed that that ugly red serape is nowhere to be seen.

It’s enough, though, finally being able to touch McCree. A relief that his friend is not dead ( _yet_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully) or badly wounded. Impaired, yes, but Hanzo can work with that. He takes comfort in running his hands across McCree’s shoulders and broad back, mapping new injuries and checking for damage beneath the surface. Beneath him, Jesse shifts to remove his boxers.

Hanzo runs the backs of his hands down Jesse’s sides, knuckles traversing the ridges of his ribs and down to the jut of his hipbones. Despite their deepening kiss, he dares not go any lower yet, instead flipping his hands so his palms fit to McCree’s waist. He takes a minute to savor the feeling, then moves his hands back up, slowly, mindful of how his calloused grip must feel to Jesse’s oversensitive skin.

Jesse bites Hanzo’s lip with a sharp gasp, and just like that he’s coming, cock untouched.

Hanzo stills his hands, shocked into inaction. Well. Apparently he overestimated the complexity of this situation.

He glances down at McCree’s lap, and the quip he has prepared about being quick on the draw dries up.

“You’re still — “

“New breed, diff’rent breed ‘round here,” says McCree, his voice ragged. Hanzo looks up and finds his friend’s eyes fixed on him, gaze dark and glassy. “Don’t stop.”

Hanzo’s blood runs cold. This isn’t right. It isn’t right, must be a trap of some sort, and his rational mind tells him to run, to get as far away as possible, locked doors be damned.

Instead he places his hands on Jesse’s thighs, leaning in for another kiss as he slides his hands _up_. McCree moans at his touch.

Maybe he just needs to come until the drug is out of his system, Hanzo thinks as he gets a hand around McCree’s dick. It’s hard to concentrate. Hanzo isn’t sure when the last time he had sex was, used to keeping to himself and to the shadows. He wants so much to keep going, to have Jesse laid out beneath him even after the project’s effects have worn off, to have his friend reciprocate Hanzo’s current efforts.

At the same time he knows. It isn’t a game. He needs to get McCree off, get the drug out of his system, and be done. This isn’t about what he wants. He needs to stay focused, ignore all internal distractions.

Using the hand that isn’t stroking McCree’s cock, Hanzo brushes against the other man’s balls, giving them a tug before pushing his fingers against the soft skin behind them. The sooner he gets this over with, the better.

Jesse arches back, his moan low and achy. Hanzo watches his face, the flutter of his eyelashes, the desperate clenching of his jaw. He fumbles in his thoughts for something, anything to temper the wave of lust that hits him at the same time he feels Jesse’s come coat his hand.

McCree makes a noise then that almost fits the bill, like something is caught in this throat. He lurches forward, gagging as his forehead hits Hanzo’s shoulder. Instinctively, Hanzo reaches up to cradle the back of his neck. He runs a hand between Jesse’s shoulders until his friend can sit up again.

Hanzo pulls away, moving to step back, but McCree moves faster, grabbing his wrists before Hanzo can get too far.

Hanzo frowns. “Again?”

Jesse nods, shaggy hair obscuring his face. “Yeah, you gotta…” He stops, staring intently at Hanzo’s bruised feet. “Yeah.”

Hanzo removes his hands from McCree’s grip. He reaches up to brush a clump of sweaty, greasy hair off Jesse’s temple. “I have to _what_? “ he asks. McCree is withholding information from him. That much is clear. “Tell me.”

McCree looks up and swallows thickly. Hanzo watches his Adam’s apple bob, watches a few of the thick tendons along his neck twitch. He waits for a response and is rewarded with silence. Leave the man before him to choose _now_ of all times to clam up.

"Fine," Hanzo says, fingers trailing back up to fondle McCree's balls. "You leave me no choice." He knows how to get McCree talking.

Hanzo leans down, pinning McCree's hips with his hands as he takes the other man's cock in his mouth.

“Hanzo, _Hanzo_ , Jesus, fuck,” Jesse cries out raw and needy, hands fisting in Hanzo's hair before he can stop himself, and Hanzo almost chokes. His physical wince is enough to get McCree to back off, moving his grip to claw at Hanzo's biceps instead. Now that it isn't occupied with Hanzo's lips, Jesse's mouth gets moving, just not entirely in the way Hanzo would like. At least he'll have some new material to work with once he's back to spending the nights alone, Hanzo thinks as Jesse continues describing all the things he'd like to do together in explicit detail.

He bends more at the knees, working to get a better angle, when pain knifes him in the calves. Apparently his legs hadn't healed completely yet; though Hanzo manages to stay upright, his muscles seize, causing him to accidentally choke on McCree's length once more before pulling away. He drops to the floor, removing his hakama as he goes.

Jesse follows him quickly, seating himself to Hanzo's left. His broad hands are on Hanzo's calves before Hanzo can protest, thumbs and fingers pressing firmly into muscle. Hanzo hisses, but doesn't ask him to stop. McCree massages him through it, tracing the scars up and down his legs until the spasms stop. Jesse gives his right calf a final squeeze before settling down, right arm pressed against Hanzo's left. Hanzo feels stupid, tired. He lets his head droop onto McCree's shoulder, just a little. 

“Apologies,” Hanzo says, panting for breath. “Just… give me a moment.” Much as he wants to hide his face, he resolves not to waver in embarrassment, choosing instead to stare straight ahead the still-locked door. He waits for the aches to be covered up by adrenaline again.

McCree nods absently, swaying despite being seated. He then glances down at Hanzo's lap, apparently, because he startles.

“Oh shit, sweetheart,” Jesse croaks. “They dosed you, too.”

Hanzo tries to stifle a laugh. He fails, leaning in to chuckle against the base of Jesse’s throat. Hanzo half wishes he _were_ drugged as well. A small, selfish part of him wants to have all the orgasms he can with McCree, especially if this is his only opportunity to do so.

Beside him, Jesse stiffens. “Hanzo? Talk to me, darlin’.”

“Hypocrite,” says Hanzo with a snort.

“Hey now,” McCree counters, “this ‘s different.”

“How so?” Hanzo asks. “Because it is _your_ turn to be concerned for someone else’s wellbeing?”

Jesse frowns, and Hanzo knows his point hit its mark.

“No,” McCree replies eventually. “I’m sayin’ if you tried rescuin’ me while delirious it won’t amount to shit.” His pissy tone and phrasing is undermined by him draping an arm around Hanzo’s shoulders, by fingers on his right hand dancing down Hanzo’s collarbone toward his chest.

“I believe things ‘amounted to shit’ once the door locked close behind me,” Hanzo snarks. He looks up, face not even an inch away from Jesse’s. “And I believe you would have to be an idiot to think you and you alone could not do _this_ to me.”

He closes the space between them before McCree can respond with anything idiotic or self-deprecating. Jesse brings his hands up to Hanzo’s face, throwing himself into the kiss now that he seems to understand his lust is mutual. He growls against Hanzo’s lips, and then he’s throwing himself _bodily_ into it, tackling Hanzo to the floor. Hanzo retaliates, rolling them so he can be on top. He bangs them into the small table beside the gurney in the process, knocking medical equipment and and a file of papers onto them. Jesse uses the distraction to gain the upper hand once again.

McCree kisses him hard, tilting Hanzo's chin up with his metal hand, then works his way down Hanzo's body. He slides down a bit, dick brushing against Hanzo's thigh. He kisses across Hanzo's chest, and down. He pauses with his face between Hanzo's pecs for a good minute before moving back up to the left side of his chest, tongue moving hot toward the base of Hanzo's tattoo. Hanzo shudders. He can't breathe.

Jesse keeps going, tracing the path of the dragon around Hanzo's arm with his lips and tongue. He rolls Hanzo's nipples between rough fingers. McCree bends his right knee and hitches it over Hanzo's leg. He moves up, and his cock brushes against Hanzo's at the same time he kisses the dragon's head on Hanzo's wrist.

Hanzo gasps. "Jesse." He wraps a hand around both their lengths. McCree does too, working with him to get a rhythm going. He bends forward at the same time Hanzo arches up.

Jesse lets out a series of gasps into Hanzo’s hair, into his right ear. “Sonuva _bitch_ ,” he pants, hand working them faster. “ _Fuck_.”

“Do you talk like this to all your lovers?” Hanzo chides. He bends his right leg with only mild complaining from his muscles, then turns his knee to press against the back of McCree’s thigh, urging him closer.

Jesse laughs. “Jus’ the ones with hands as clever as yours.”

Hanzo scoffs. “Flatterer.” He palms McCree’s ass, further encouragement for his friend’s actions.

“Hey, your sweet talk could use a lil’ work too from the sounds of it,” Jesse counters. He twists his wrist on the upstroke, his own dick rubbing against Hanzo’s just so, and Hanzo knows this isn’t going to last much longer.

“Oh?” says Hanzo, feigning confusion. “Is it not working?” Emboldened, he runs two fingers down the crack of McCree’s ass, then presses in.

McCree’s grip on their cocks is like a vise. “Oh, _fuck_ me,” he roars, coating his hand and Hanzo’s cock in come. The room starts to spin, and Hanzo has to close his eyes, seeing stars for a wholly different reason than before. Orgasm rocks him down to the bone, has him clutching at McCree’s back, pulling him in closer and closer, and Hanzo wants to suffocate in it.

When he returns to his senses, groggy and overly sensitive, he realizes McCree is still hard and rutting against his hip. Hanzo presses two fingers to his friend’s neck. Fast. Much too fast. Jesse shivers against him.

As much as he wants to cling, Hanzo urges McCree off of him. It's hopeless, he thinks darkly as they both get to a sitting position.

They can't give up, though. Hanzo knows. He grabs for the folder and its spilled contents. Perhaps the solution lies within, a definite cure or some trick to 'breaking the spell.' Hanzo sighs. Maybe Jesse is just hard forever now.

He can't focus, scanning the lines. He picks out a few words here and there, but there's too much jargon, nothing that jumps out at Hanzo as being more important than the rest of the text. _Why_ does it have to involve a partner? Why does it have to involve _him_? Why hasn't he _fixed_ Jesse yet?

“Used to be you could — take matters into your own hands ’n solve things.” McCree’s hitching voice breaks Hanzo’s train of thought. “Now they make it so ya’ — gotta buddy up.”

Hanzo frowns and looks up from the files. He fully intends to ask Jesse what he means by that, and to investigate why his partner’s words are starting and stopping so strangely.

Hanzo looks up and finds he can’t speak. The words die not on his tongue, not in his throat, but all the way up in the center of his brain because Hanzo looks up and sees Jesse McCree jerking himself off. His hands move roughly, but Jesse’s expression is languid, like he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s doing. He’s watching Hanzo with dark, hooded eyes, his right leg folded under him while his left leg remains extended. His foot twitches in the space between them, and Hanzo reaches out to grab it.

It’s hard to breathe, Hanzo finds. Noticing McCree the way he had, with the excellent eyesight he had, Hanzo had always noticed the other man had freckles. They ran dark across his tanned face and forearms, a few trailing down his neck and chest. Now though. Now Hanzo could see they were everywhere, full-body smatterings underneath all of Jesse’s body hair. They run thin across his stomach and thighs, but they’re just as present across his knees, down his calves, even a few on the tops of his feet.

Hanzo brushes his thumb against Jesse’s arch, and the other man shudders.

A sick thought seizes him. “Did they…” Hanzo exhales slowly, attempting to collect his thoughts before jumping to the worst conclusion. He forces the words out. “Did they test this on you? Before?”

“Naw,” Jesse replies easily, the ‘w’ dragging into a groan as he continues his ministrations. “Docs shot me up as they was leavin’, once a scout said someone was comin’.” He rotates his right arm, Hanzo’s makeshift bandage fluttering. “Had to pull the IV out an’ unshackle myself ‘fore you showed.”

Hanzo allows himself to slump forward, running his free hand down his face. “ _Yokatta_.” McCree could be lying, but the last thing he wants is to find out some slimy Talon doctor had their way with his friend. It’s selfish, but Hanzo wants to be the only one to make him do this, to see him _like this_.

Hanzo loves everything about the image before him. The slight, steady curling and uncurling of Jesse’s toes. The twitch of each well defined muscle. The way his left knee quakes, bending in then out like he wants to cover himself but won’t. The thick hair traveling up Jesse’s legs, across his belly and chest. The odd discoloration of Jesse’s skin around his right wrist, the starbursts and snaking paths of scar tissues mapped across his broad body, jags of lightning where his prosthesis meets the flesh of his left arm.

For a minute, Hanzo has some serious concerns that McCree won’t be the only one coming twice in a matter of minutes. He isn’t young anymore, can’t go for Round Two as soon as he used to, but he’s certainly willing to try. He squeezes his cock, mentally willing himself to get hard again though he knows it doesn’t exactly work like that. Not on his end, anyway.

Watching him, Jesse gasps and comes in his own hand, wincing slightly as he strokes through the orgasm and finds himself still hard.

There’s no clock in this laboratory either, Hanzo notices. There’s no way to measure the passage of time in here, and a thought comes to him unbidden. Hanzo can picture it, an infinite loop of him and McCree fucking on every flat surface in the room for days until someone finds them.

“Are you actually feeling any better?” Hanzo asks McCree instead.

Jesse looks down at his own still-hard dick with a hangdog expression. “That answer your question?”

“Not particularly,” says Hanzo, mentally lamenting that he even knows the word ‘hangdog’ and its proper usage. “You said you used to be able to do it alone.”

“Yeah,” says McCree.

“ _Used to_ ,” Hanzo repeats.

“ _Yeah_ , I’d think that’d be pretty obvious by now,” Jesse replies, hand squeezing his dick again sharply.

The gears in Hanzo’s head turn slowly but surely. It’s dependent on the other person coming, then, but coming like they had together moments ago didn’t seem to work.

Hanzo swallows hard, deliberating how to best ask the question that needs asking.

“Jesse,” he begins, meeting McCree’s gaze. “I would like if I could – ”

“Want you t’ fuck me.” Jesse’s words tumble out. He himself looks stunned for a moment, once the words are hanging in the air between them. “I mean, uh– ”

Hanzo cuts him off with a hard kiss, their teeth clacking together before it softens into something hotter and dirtier.

“Always thought you’d put up more of a fight,” McCree admits when they break apart, tracing Hanzo’s right cheekbone with his metal thumb.

Hanzo raises an eyebrow at that. “Always?”

Jesse smiles. “C’mon, darlin’,” he purrs, voice sending a shiver down Hanzo’s spine. “I’m not dead or blind.”

Hanzo clears his throat, looking away from McCree's heated gaze. It's too much for him, too much genuine adoration laced into Jesse's flirting. "Right. Well."

He pulls back, but Jesse chases him, lips trailing down his neck. He sighs against Hanzo's collarbone. Hanzo can't imagine what they look like right now, covered in sweat and come, bloodied and bruised. He puts his hands around McCree's back. He wouldn't trade it for anything.

McCree keeps going, kissing down his chest. He brushes a hand against Hanzo's cock, and Hanzo flinches at the contact.

"Too soon," he grumbles, getting a hand between them to push McCree back. "We should find some kind of... lubrication, however. If we plan to continue."

McCree frowns. “Can’t we use – ”

“No,” says Hanzo, getting his feet under him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Jesse rolls his eyes as Hanzo uses the edge of the gurney to pull himself to standing. “I’m just sayin’,” McCree continues. “Got enough of it on me already.”

“And how much of that is already drying?” Hanzo asks. His legs are shaky, but not so much that he can’t support his own weight. He puts one foot in front of the other, gradually getting somewhere.

Behind him, Jesse huffs. “Alright, yer highness. Help me up.”

Hanzo frowns down at him. "You are fine where you are."

"No I aint," Jesse argues. "My back is killin' me. Ain't a spring chicken anymore."

Hanzo snorts, breaking into laughter. Though his own back protests, he bends down and pulls McCree up. The other man's knees crack as he gets upright.

"Shit," Jesse swears, leaning against the gurney. "Floor ain't as comfortable as it used t' be."

"It never was," Hanzo sighs. He notices that Jesse grabbed his underwear along the way, the material balled up into McCree’s fist. The other man turns away and sets to cleaning himself up a bit, avoiding his still-hard cock. Hanzo swallows hard at the sight. He turns, glancing toward a wall of metal drawers and cabinets before realization hits him.

“Stop,” he says, spinning back to face McCree.

“What?” Jesse groans.

“It’s a Talon base,” Hanzo explains. The pieces seem to snap into place in McCree’s mind even as Hanzo talks. “What is going to be available here that we can trust not to make the situation worse?”

“Shit,” says Jesse, tossing his boxers back to the floor. “Yep. That makes sense.”

Hanzo gestures uselessly at McCree’s lower body, at the come still stuck to his stomach and thighs. “Can you work with… this?”

Jesse grins. “Depends on how nice you treat me between then an' now.”

Hanzo resists the rising urge to strangle him. “Jesse,” he says dryly. “Please.”

“ ‘Please,’ “McCree repeats before shrugging. “Good ‘nough.”

He grabs Hanzo by the right elbow, lowering them both to the floor with only mild swearing between the pair of them. Hanzo tries to relax, letting McCree get him on his back. Jesse smothers him, pressing insistent kisses to Hanzo’s neck and chest. Hanzo groans, moving a hand between them. Jesse gets there first, right palm hot and sweaty around Hanzo’s cock. “Let me, darlin’,” he says. Hanzo feels McCree’s metal arm pressing down across his hips, and he knows where this is going even before Jesse moves down his body.

He gasps and closes his eyes as Jesse’s mouth wraps around him, working him back to hardness. His beard scratches at the thin skin of Hanzo’s inner thighs.

The moment is ruined a bit by Jesse’s fingers on his face, poking at Hanzo’s mouth until he opens it. Hanzo rolls his eyes but sucks anyway, covering McCree’s digits in spit. Better for him to have _something_ to work with besides come and pre-cum.

Below, Jesse pulls off Hanzo, taking a minute to readjust on his sore knees. He doesn’t crawl on top of Hanzo like Hanzo expected, instead staying between the V of his legs. His back is out of reach with Hanzo lying down like this; Hanzo can only grab McCree’s hip when he tries.

Jesse exhales slowly, moving his right hand behind him to press _in_. He keens as he prepares himself, and Hanzo squeezes his hips in encouragement. Jesse braces his left hand on Hanzo’s chest, flicking his right nipple with a breathy laugh.

Hanzo grunts, then moves to tug on the ends of his scarf, still tied around McCree’s right elbow. “You’re going to reopen your wound doing that,” he chastises.

“Left one’s too hard,” McCree says by way of explanation, beginning to pant. He pumps Hanzo’s dick again, coating his fingers in pre-cum before reaching back once more.

“Then let me,” says Hanzo. He moves his right hand from where it grips Jesse’s hip, but McCree swats him away, metal arm stinging his skin.

“ ‘s a matter of pride,” he replies with a gasp, hips canting further forward. Hanzo can’t tell if he’s using three or four fingers already, but he’s obviously getting somewhere. Hanzo’s cock jerks between them. He considers reaching for Jesse’s dick but decides against it; Jesse is probably overstimulated enough as it is.

“I don’t suppose you have a condom handy,” he muses, accidentally raking his nails down McCree’s thighs as the other man jerks against him.

McCree bends down to kiss him quick before arching back onto his own hand. “Don’t need it,” he replies, “wanna feel you, sweetheart.” Hanzo wants to point out that his concerns are more about hygiene than anything, but if they have to do without, they’ll do without. Who knows – it might even be the key to getting McCree past the worst of this drug’s symptoms.

Jesse stops, withdrawing his fingers with a huff. He moves up to straddle Hanzo’s waist, reaching back to give Hanzo’s cock a few more slick strokes before sinking down on him. Jesse goes slowly, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering close. Hanzo grips his thighs hard enough to bruise, breathless at how beautiful the other man looks like this.

Hanzo releases a shaky breath once McCree is fully seated. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to come _now_ at the sensation.

Jesse, however, does. He spills between their bodies, painting Hanzo’s chest and stomach a new shade of white. Hanzo thinks for a minute that was it, the act of penetration enough to break past whatever bizarre neural blockers remain in McCree’s system.

Then Jesse growls. The noise starts as a rumble, low in his chest, but rises in pitch, breaking into a whine before dying. He leans forward, knocking his clammy forehead against Hanzo’s. Hanzo swallows hard, choking down the rising fear he feels. He brushes McCree’s sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead, then thumbs away a tear that’s escaped to roll down Jesse’s cheek.

Jesse sighs then moves so his lips brush against Hanzo’s. He clumsily returns Hanzo’s gesture of comfort, running a hand through the other man’s hair. Hanzo runs his hands up and down Jesse’s sides until he stops shaking; his heart is still pounding hard enough for Hanzo to feel it, but it will have to do. The sooner he gets McCree through this, the better.

McCree breaks away then to breathe, breath hot and fast against Hanzo’s collarbone. He bucks his hips, slowly getting back to himself until he can tilt upright. He lifts further off Hanzo slowly, then slides back down with a moan. His right hand goes to Hanzo’s chest, back to the base of the other man’s tattoo, which Jesse strokes.

“No wise words from you about riding, cowboy?” Hanzo asks. He bends his knees to put his feet flat on the floor, then begins thrusting up, trying to help Jesse find a rhythm.

McCree snorts, then laughs – softer than Hanzo expected – a few seconds later when he actually gets the joke. “Not enough blood runnin’ upstairs,” he replies, rising up on his knees.

“And this is news?” Hanzo teases, hands coming to rest on the softer part of McCree’s stomach.

Jesse comes back down with a shudder. “Better luck next time, pardner,” he says, shooting Hanzo a cocky grin.

Hanzo forces himself to ignore it, to pretend McCree doesn’t realize what he’s implying. He trails upward with his hands, combing through the hair on Jesse’s chest. He lets them rest there, pressing over McCree’s too-fast heartbeat and too-shallow breathing.

It isn’t great, Hanzo thinks. Jesse’s coordination is lacking, movements starting and stopping erratically. He’s shaking, teeth gnashing once in a while from the force of it, and his dick is hard and angry-red against his stomach.

Hanzo loops his arms around McCree’s neck. Jesse bends down to kiss him then, stilling for a moment, and Hanzo takes the opportunity to flip them over.

McCree hums against his lips, whispers something that sounds an awful lot like “Darlin’.” Hanzo breaks away, pushing down on his friend’s right hip to change the angle a bit before pressing back in.

Beneath him, Jesse seizes with a pained-sounding shout.

Hanzo halts. “Jesse?” He digs what’s left of his fingernails into the other man’s shoulders, hoping the pain will ground him more than the overwhelming pleasure. “Stay here,” he commands, leaving his intended “with me” unspoken.

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut and whines. “There.” It’s barely more than a whimper. Hanzo isn’t even sure he heard McCree right. “God. _Fuck_.”

He pulls back and out, confused. Jesse curses a blue streak in response.

“No, no, _no_.” McCree bucks his hips, coming back to himself. “Jesus, fucking _hell_ , darling.” With a sudden burst of energy he hikes a leg around Hanzo’s waist and grabs Hanzo’s hips, reeling him back in. Hanzo lets himself be drawn forward; he thrusts his hips reflexively once he’s all in. Jesse tips his head back, letting it hit the floor with a thump and a string of curses. His cock spams, leaking even more precum that before. “ _That_ , inside me,” McCree moans. “ _There!_ ”

Hanzo blinks down at Jesse, taking in the sight below him as the pieces click into the place. He draws back slowly and adjusts his angle before pushing in again, harder and faster than before. McCree throws an arm over his face, and his back arches, letting Hanzo know he parsed that vague conversation correctly.

He doesn’t wait for Jesse to recover before he pulls out once more, then sets to fucking his friend in earnest. Jesse’s moans are a low, constant rumble, vibrations Hanzo feels in his hands as he grips McCree’s hips and holds on for dear life. He wants this, he doesn’t want this to stop. He can finally admit things will be finished much faster than he would like, but Hanzo can’t slow down, blood thrumming fiercely in his veins. He wants, and he _has wanted_ , and he’s here now and he can’t stop.

Below him, Jesse huffs. “Say, if I do die,” he says between grunts and gasps, “this’ll be one helluva way to go.”

Hanzo laughs despite of the pang of worry Jesse’s words shoot through him. “Save your breath, cowman,” he assures McCree. “It will soon be over.”

The other man chokes out a groan, whether in relief or disappointment Hanzo can’t tell. He watches McCree writhe beneath his weight, eyes scrunched closed as Hanzo maintains his punishing pace. Jesse moves his right hand between their bodies to grip at his cock. He only manages a few strokes before Hanzo is batting his hand away.

“Turnabout is fair play, is it not?” he asks, hoping Jesse catches his teasing tone. Shifting his weight further onto his left arm, Hanzo takes up his friend’s place and pace with his own right hand.

Jesse sobs at the contact. His hands change course, reaching for Hanzo’s face once more. Hanzo allows himself to be bowed, lets Jesse pull him down into a bruising kiss. It’s a mistake; sweet as the kiss is, Hanzo can only support so much weight on one arm, and he loses his balance in short order. McCree catches him, metallic left hand on Hanzo’s right shoulder, propping him back into a somewhat upright position. Jesse moves his right hand, too, using his grip to brace Hanzo’s left forearm. He traces the dragon again with his thumb as he goes.

Frustrated with himself, Hanzo redoubles his efforts. It’s thrown him off, though. He snaps his hips, but the rhythm isn’t quite as good as before. He can’t get a good grip on McCree’s dick, either, his wrist at the wrong angle and the member much, _much_ too slick from their previous tries. Hanzo stops.

“I am sorry,” he says preemptively before wiping his right hand on McCree’s thigh. Jesse grunts in acceptance.

“Don’t care,” he says, shifting his hips impatiently. “Just _move_.”

Hanzo does, thrusting hard. McCree feels so good; he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to stop ( _and what happened_ , his brain asks, _to getting this resolved as quickly as possible?_ ).

He slows his pace fractionally. He isn’t going to come first, not when this is most likely his last chance with Jesse.

Panting, Hanzo focuses on his right hand, trying to adjust to find a better angle. McCree’s dick is still slicker than Hanzo wants, pre-cum mixing with the pre-existing come. It causes him to grip and twist harder, maybe a little too hard based on the gasps McCree makes. Hanzo strokes upward, pulling tight, and leans down to capture his lips in a kiss. The callus on his thumb drags across the band of tissue on the underside of Jesse’s cock.

Jesse shouts into his mouth, his hold on Hanzo tightening in response. He makes a string of noises that are short, sharp, and jerky, but then he’s coming, Hanzo notes with relief, hot and fast against Hanzo’s hand, against the tightly-clenched muscles of his stomach. He goes painfully tense all over, and the pressure around Hanzo’s dick is unbearable.

Hanzo breaks away from the kiss. “Jesse, I – ”

He’s coming before he can even finish his sentence, doubling over and burying his face against the side of Jesse’s neck. He lets out a strangled cry, rocking his hips through his release. Lights dance behind his eyes, then for a minute he swears everything blacks out.

McCree flops back onto the floor when he finishes, with a long groan and another muttered “God _damn_ ,” and Hanzo falls with him. He knows he should get off the other man, but he doesn’t move, can’t speak, face still plastered to Jesse’s neck. He almost asks, but he can feel Jesse’s cock finally – _finally_ – softening in his hand. He can feel Jesse’s heart rate slowing down, a steady beat against Hanzo’s own chest.

Hanzo finally allows himself to relax. It takes him a few minutes to return to his senses enough to pull out, careful not to cause McCree any further discomfort. Hanzo puts a hand on Jesse’s chest, moving to push himself off from his friend. Jesse groans before wrapping his arms around Hanzo, pulling Hanzo back down on top of him without opening his eyes.

Hanzo snorts. Of course Jesse is a cuddler. He allows it though, burrowing his face into McCree’s neck once again, and McCree holds him tighter, absently running his fingers up and down Hanzo’s back. Hanzo trails his fingers up and down McCree’s sides in response, feeling his breathing slow, return to normal.

It’s tempting to fall asleep, Hanzo finds, overly warm and thoroughly satisfied as he is. He had forgotten how comfortable this could be.

“Was it good for you?” Jesse’s voice is still low and a bit crackly, but his typical good humor is far from lacking.

“Let me go,” Hanzo grumbles, making no move to actually leave Jesse’s embrace.

McCree chuckles into Hanzo’s ear, lazily intertwining their legs. “You sayin’ you don’t wanna be found like this when the cavalry comes?”

Hanzo groans against his shoulder. Not that he wants to be in this position should, say, his brother, or Angela, or _Torbj_ _ö_ _rn_ were to walk in, but cleaning up seems futile at the moment. Assuming Talon abandoned the base completely, Overwatch is going to comb through the building, and someone is bound to ask about the missing footage from this room once Hanzo and McCree met up. Hanzo already dreads the debriefing he’s sure will follow. Not to mention Doctor Ziegler’s follow-up examinations – surely some kind of basic toxicology report will show trace amounts of the project in McCree’s system, and if it’s only mostly gone, signs will point to Hanzo lending a helping hand rather quickly.

“Jesse?” Tracer’s lively voice is muffled by the steel walls and door, but it slices into Hanzo’s consciousness with surprising clarity. “Hanzo? Anyone in there, luvs?”

“Jesus _shit_ ,” Jesse swears, bolting upright at the same time as Hanzo. His face immediately turns gray. He puts a hand to his stomach. “ _Lena_ , yeah. We’re, uh, we’re hangin’ in here.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Hanzo folds his legs underneath himself to shift to a kneeling position, wincing as his calves protest in pain. He gets a palm flat against his McCree’s chest, pushing the other man back to the ground as Lena talks. “There seems to be a problem with the doors, well, pretty much everywhere in here. The locking mechanisms aren’t lettin’ go, been havin’ to hack or blast our way through. Wanted to be careful once we were gettin’ closer to finding you two!” She pauses. “Is… is Hanzo even in there with you? Now that I’m sayin’ it, I –”

“Yes,” says Hanzo at the same time Jesse says, “No.” They stare at each other for a second, Hanzo’s attempt at a neutral expression quickly sliding into a scowl, before Hanzo speaks again.

“I am in here as well,” he says, hoping Lena doesn’t press for an explanation, not yet at least.

“Oh, goody!” She doesn’t. “Excellent, two birds one stone, eh? You alright too, mate?”

Hanzo softens a bit at the genuine concern in her tone. “That,” he mutters, reaching for the nearest article of clothing to begin cleaning up with, “Is a very good question.”

“Not th’ shirt,” says Jesse, still laid out on the floor. It takes Hanzo a moment to realize he’s grabbed Jesse’s button-up. “Wanna put that back on.” Hanzo pauses to look him over, taking the time now to notice the sheer amount of come stuck and drying in the hair on McCree’s stomach, on his chest, and yes, it’s probably best for him to have a shirt to put on.

“Sorry, did you say somethin’?” Lena asks through the door. “I can’t quite hear ya’.”

Hanzo picks up McCree’s boxers, already used and stained. He wrinkles his nose. They’ll have to do. “We are fine,” he says, loud enough for Tracer to pick up. “Thank you for asking.”

“Glad to hear it, mate!” Tracer continues to explain the situation as Hanzo does his best to get himself and Jesse dried off and back into their respective pants. “Well, I’ve commed the rest of the team to get them to this part of the building. Gonna be a few minutes yet, but never fear, we’ll have you out in no time!”

Hanzo and Jesse share an embarrassed look. “ ‘s okay,” McCree hollers toward the door, propping himself up slowly on shaking arms. “Take yer time.”

He casts Hanzo another glance, then reaches forward. His thumb brushes Hanzo’s right cheek with purpose, like he’s trying to scrub something off.

McCree frowns, taking his hand away. “You got…” He gestures with his left hand; the blood from earlier has dried a dark brown on the metal. Hanzo realizes the handprint still on his face must be the same shade.

Hanzo shakes his head. What’s done is done. “Leave it,” he commands wearily. “They will know soon enough anyway.”

“You sure?” Jesse asks, shrugging into his shirt. “I can lie for ya’ if you want, pretend it was somethin’ else that happened.” He smirks a bit to himself. “Real good at that.”

Hanzo pauses, then leans forward, brushing his lips against McCree’s. Jesse kisses back, slowly, softly. It isn’t much, perhaps not the clearest answer Hanzo could have given, he realizes, but as they linger together, it’s enough.

When he can’t bear it any longer, Hanzo pulls away. He busies himself with putting on his shirt, not wanting to look at anything anymore.

Jesse reaches out again once Hanzo’s head is free. His expression is unreadable as he brushes an errant strand of hair away from his friend’s face, tucking it behind Hanzo’s ear carefully. Jesse swallows hard, then sets to putting on the rest of his clothes, content to dress in silence while they await the rest of their teammates.

 

*****

 

Roughly twenty hours passed between his and Jesse’s capture and rescue, Hanzo learns the next morning. Incredible how much things could change in such a short amount of time.

A rescue team mobilized as soon as he and McCree lost contact. Hanzo was relatively shocked to realize his brother spearheaded the operation, backed up by Lena, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Angela. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to Genji’s acceptance and willingness to look out for him, or if every time will leave him speechless. At least Genji had returned Hanzo’s one-armed hug without pressing him for further comment.

Genji had stayed behind at the Talon base to lead the recon work and ensure the compound was fully cleared out. The odd-numbered band had argued about who was staying to help and who would fly back to the Gibraltar base with McCree and Hanzo. It had taken a fair amount of convincing from himself and Jesse, but in the end both Reinhardt and Torbjörn remained with Genji.

Hanzo had, of course, reassured Dr. Ziegler he was perfectly fine apart from being exhausted and that she should focus her attention entirely on McCree on the journey back.

Hanzo had then, according to Lena, held a twenty-minute conversation with her about a follow-up mission report before passing out in the co-pilot seat.

The good doctor has a few strong words for Hanzo when he wakes up in the hospital ward around 700 hours the following morning. They’re mostly in German, but he thinks he gets the gist of it.

“And Jesse?” he asks once Angela is done lecturing him. From the corner of his eye he notices his personal pad light up. Winston, most likely. Hanzo had messaged the gorilla upon waking, asking to arrange a time for his formal recap of the mission. Winston had already insisted it could wait another day, but Hanzo wanted to be done with it as soon as possible. He still wasn't sure whether or not he wanted McCree there with him.

“He’ll be out later today,” Dr. Ziegler assures him. “Right now, though, I need Jesse to stay put. I had to implement an IV drip along with the standard healing nano-bots since his fluids weren’t being replaced fast enough.”

“Lotta fluids that needed replacin’,” McCree crows from around the corner, rendering Hanzo bright red and Angela looking like she wants to smack herself in the face with the chart she’s holding. He hadn’t realized the other man was that close, barely even one room over. Hanzo at least has the option of walking out of the medbay after that, heading for the main conference room as slow as humanly possible.

Hanzo’s main takeaway from the debriefing is that it is in fact possible for a man pushing forty to reach a new level of personal embarrassment. It’s incredible, really. The meeting wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been one of the few times The Solider and Captain Amari were actually on base. The former Overwatch commanders were typically off base, tracking some Talon operative called the Reaper together. Leave it to Hanzo’s luck for them to not only be free but interested in sitting in on the mission report with Winston and Lena since Reinhardt and Torbjörn were still away. On the other hand, Reinhardt and Torbjörn's absence was also why _Genji_ wasn’t around to witness this disaster. Perhaps it balanced out.

He’s still lingering outside the conference room, debating whether or not 1300 is too early in the day to start drinking, when his vision is obscured by something that smells of leather and smoke. His brother’s robotic laughter fills the air behind him.

“What is this for?” Hanzo asks, removing the hat from his head.

“We recovered some of your personal items during the mission,” Genji explains, falling into step as Hanzo begins the long trek back to his room. “Talon disassembled your weapons, but I put your boots and what I’m pretty sure is all the pieces of Stormbow in your room already.” He waves toward the hat in Hanzo’s grip. “I took McCree most of his belongings, but I thought you might require an excuse to talk to him later.”

Hanzo hums noncommittally. He’s lost for words, having assumed Talon incinerated whatever they didn’t find useful. He hadn’t expected anything back, was already processing the loss of his belongings. Hanzo tries and fails to ignore the affection blooming in his chest at the sight of McCree’s favorite hat, of being able to handle the worn leather. “Thank you.”

Genji nods in acknowledgement. They walk in silence for a minute before Genji clears his throat. Hanzo casts him a suspicious glance.

“I, uh,” Genji begins. “I also retrieved the laboratory files for Angela. About Project Himeros.”

Hanzo wonders if he’s ever sighed in exasperation this many times in two days before. “Of course,” he remarks dryly. “At least I do not need to give you a recap of this morning’s briefing, then.”

Genji snickers. “You needed an official conference for that? To tell Winston and Morrison that you, what, banged Agent McCree?”

“Obviously,” Hanzo replies, avoiding eye contact with the green glow of Genji’s visor.

Genji physically recoils. “ _Eugh.”_

Hanzo sighs and stops, waiting for his brother to catch up. “What?” He is, frankly, a bit insulted Genji isn’t more worried about his wellbeing. Still, it took them long enough to approach this level of normal. He supposes he isn’t willing to gripe about a brotherly teasing such as this.

“Forget it,” Genji says, matching Hanzo’s pace again. “I don’t want to know.”

“Then _why did you ask_?” Fuck it, Hanzo thinks. Normal brotherly teasing is overrated.

“Didn’t think it through,” Genji replies. “Didn’t you used to claim that was a specialty of mine?” Hanzo barks out a laugh in spite of himself.

There’s another not-quite-uncomfortable silence before Genji speaks again. “How long?”

Hanzo tilts his head, glancing at his brother as they turn a corner. “I thought you said – ”

“ _Not that_. I mean,” Genji begins, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. He relaxes once more, then says, “How long have the two of you been together?”

It takes Hanzo a minute to understand what his brother is driving at. Once he does, his stomach drops, just a bit. “Never. We were not ‘seeing each other’ prior to this… incident, not in any way other than as friends.”

“Huh,” says Genji. The light from his visor seems more judgmental than a second ago. “And now?”

Hanzo grimaces down at the hat still in his hands. He brushes a thumb across the old metal Overwatch insignia. “I acted as was needed in a crisis. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It’s Genji’s turn to sigh dramatically. “Forget ‘needed’,” he argues. “What do you _want_ to be to McCree? I think your relationship with Jesse is about to change, no matter which path you choose. Wouldn’t it be best to just… have what you want? At least try for it?”

Hanzo grips the brim of McCree’s hat, twisting it between his fingers before shoving the damned thing into his brother’s chest. Genji falls back a step, hands reflexively coming up to clutch the tacky accessory, and Hanzo lets go.

“I am going to go sleep,” he says, heading in the direction of his dormitory. “Please do not disturb me.”

“It’s barely after noon,” Genji replies incredulously.

Hanzo keeps walking, not even bothering with an acknowledgment. Genji doesn’t follow, instead turning back the way they came with a shake of his head.

“Jesse isn’t getting his hat back until you talk to him!” he calls over his shoulder.

“How is that a threat?” Hanzo yells back.

“Have you seen his hat hair?” Genji asks.

Hanzo frowns. “It is not that bad.”

He looks back just in time to see Genji throwing his hands in the air. “Agh, _wasurete_ ,” he grouses more to himself than Hanzo. “You’re already too far gone if you think that’s a good look.”

 

*****

 

In all honesty, Hanzo doesn’t plan to sleep. He doesn’t _want_ to sleep, worried what will appear behind his eyes once they close.

He wants to practice, lose himself in the routine of launching arrows at targets until everything in life lines up like his shots. He could at least practice other weaponry, keep his skills with a gun or hand-to-hand combat sharp, but he’s feeling stubborn and not up to the task of making eye contact with anyone else who might be there. Reassembling Stormbow will be a hassle, no doubt, but at least it will be work. As Genji would point out, it will also give him an excuse to lock himself in his room and sulk, but that’s neither here nor there.

He hears it before he turns the corner, the slight _ching_ of metal on metal echoing around the empty hall. Spurs. Just his luck, Hanzo thinks. He briefly considers changing course and heading for the cafeteria. But Jesse’s here, of his own volition, and as long as no one else is with him once Hanzo mans up to meet him, now is their best chance to actually discuss what happened. The quicker they clear the air, the quicker they can resume a professional partnership and perhaps even friendship (and perhaps even… well. Hanzo shakes that thought away before it can fully form).

McCree is pacing outside Hanzo’s room when he arrives, right hand running through his hair. He’s already looking better, skin an even shade instead of overly flushed. The ends of his hair are wet, likely drying from an earlier shower. He doesn’t notice Hanzo at first, muttering under his breath until Hanzo clears his throat to get Jesse’s attention.

McCree stops, looking up a touch too fast. “Heya.” His tone is even, but there’s something skittish behind his eyes.

“Jesse,” says Hanzo, nodding.

“Ya got a minute to talk?” McCree asks, no preamble.

“Of course,” Hanzo replies. He couldn’t give another answer if he tried. He shoulders past McCree, moving to punch in the code for his door before stopping himself.

It’s too soon to be alone in a closed room, Hanzo thinks, the slow creep of panic setting in. They can’t be in _there_ together – it would be bad enough anywhere non-communal, he thinks, but his personal room especially will pin Hanzo between his standard, private fantasies and the reality of what he and McCree did in Andorra.

“Y’alright, Shimada?”

Hanzo clears his throat, taking a step back. He catches McCree’s worried gaze, then inclines his head, a clear ‘follow me’ gesture. Jesse does, un-pocketing and lighting up a cigarillo as soon as the pair get outside.

Hanzo doesn’t have a plan. He just knows that he needs to keep moving, that a change in scenery might do them both better. Restless thoughts threaten to make their way to his tongue, but he holds his silence as they trek on of the worn cliff-side paths. Jesse was the one who wanted to talk, though, Hanzo tells himself. Let him talk first.

“So,” McCree begins not shortly after. “Thanks fer taking one for the team yesterday.”

Hanzo slants him a flat look. “Really?"

“Alright,” says McCree. “Lemme start again.” He clears his throat, flicking ash off the end of his smoke. “I, uh. I’m sorry. About what happened when we were captured las’ night. Or whatever time it was. Look, the point is, I know that probably wasn’t something you wanted.”

“It was… unexpected,” Hanzo says, backtracking on his intended confession. He can’t say it yet, not without getting a few things off his chest. He pretends he didn’t notice the way McCree’s expression shifted with every word of his sentence. “I should apologize to you also.”

Jesse frowns. He tosses the end of his cigarillo on the ground, stamping out the embers as he moves forward. “An’ how d’you reckon that makes sense?”

Hanzo ponders the least offensive way to phrase his next thought. “To begin, I did not wish to presume your sexual orientation based on your… attitudes.”

McCree laughs at that, loud and bright. “Assume away,” he replies, metal fingers rapping playfully against his _BAMF_ belt buckle. “Always fig’red you of all agents would understand how much stock gets put into appearances,” and it’s true, Hanzo realizes as Jesse says it. They both speak a lot in stereotypes, in the image they impress upon other people. The drifting cowboy, the traditional rōnin. People can look at them both and guess their stories, can guess that they’re better left alone.

“Second,” says Hanzo after taking a moment to absorb that information. “I feel… like I took advantage of the situation, in a way. There is a chance the partner you designated for emergencies would have been in our rescue squad, or that Doctor Ziegler could have cured you without the need for intercourse.”

“Hell, Han,” Jesse says, elbowing Hanzo gently, “Don’t beat up on yerself for that. Holopads and lines ‘a code don’t mean shit in a life-or-death situation like that. Truth is…” McCree stares intently at the ground, seeming to chew on what he needs to say next. “Truth is, I didn’t designate anyone.”

Hanzo turns on McCree, knowing how hypocritical it is of him to be angry over it, but he can’t help it, the sudden snap of fury. “You knew the dangers firsthand and still didn’t designate a partner?”

“Oh, it ain’t that bad!” McCree protests. Hanzo resists the urge to slug him in the shoulder. “I mean, I can think of worse ways to die.” The hint of a grin slides off his features when Hanzo doesn’t lighten up. “That an’, well.” He sighs. “I wasn’t puttin’ that kinda pressure on someone else, not if I could help it. I’m used to goin’ it alone, not ropin’ anyone into my damn problems.”

“Ah,” says Hanzo, tipping his head toward McCree, temper cooling, because _that_ he understands all too well.

“Yeah,” McCree agrees.

They pause, halfway up the bluffs, to stare at the sea sprawling wide beneath them. It’s pleasant out, midday sun high and hot but made bearable by a breeze. It’s nice, thinks Hanzo, before it strikes him as odd. The conversation he’s having now with Jesse out in the clean air and natural light. How far they are from the sterile, sweat-soaked room they fucked in. It’s too nice.

Hanzo turns to walk back the way they came. He may be better rested than a night or two before, but he’s still too tired to go any further up the path. He knows the climb only gets steeper from here. “Still,” he says, “you held out important info on me. Had I waited, you could have died as a result. I could have… taken care of you quicker as well.”

McCree laughs, following. “Didn’t hear ya’ complainin’ yesterday.”

Hanzo throws a sharp glare over his shoulder.

“It’s… “ McCree’s steps falter a bit, and he clears his throat before catching up to Hanzo’s side. “Been a while. I got real selfish there, what I really oughta ‘pologize for.” He squints out at the ocean below, the trace of a smile on his lips. “Hadn’t been treated that nice in a long time, and you…” He throws a meaningful look in Hanzo’s direction. “I mean, yer always a sight for sore eyes.”

Hanzo smirks in return. “Always?”

McCree stops walking, and Hanzo does too. “Damn it, quit bein’ mean to me, Hanzo,” he says, and his voice is teasing but Hanzo can see how hard his eyes are, a flash of real discomfort. “Ain’t easy to be sayin’ this, even under better conditions.”

Hanzo stands firm, meeting Jesse’s stare with resolve of his own.

“Jus’…” McCree ducks his head, his lack of a hat not quite hiding his vulnerable expression as it usually does. Hanzo averts his gaze out of respect, looking down at his hands. Jesse is here, not even a foot away, hardly out of reach.

Cautiously, Hanzo takes McCree’s right hand in his left. His friend exhales slowly, then squeezes in understanding.

“We’re both used to only havin’ our own hides, yeah?” Jesse offers into the silence stretching between them. “Maybe… I ain’t your first choice, but if anythin’ happens like this again, we could be each others’ person.” He forces out a chuckle. “Could be real fancy an’ actually put it on the paperwork this time.”

“We could,” says Hanzo, taking a small step forward. “I’d be amenable to ‘being your person’ without it, though.” He raises his right hand to stroke at the scruff on McCree’s cheek.

“You don’t regret it?” Jesse asks. It’s obvious he’s trying not to play his hand, but it’s also obvious to Hanzo that there’s some shred of hope in his question. It could be a gamble, but Hanzo would be a fool not to take it.

“Perhaps the circumstances,” he replies honestly. “But not it being with you. _Never_ it being with you.”

Jesse smiles like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and then he’s leaning forward, lips meeting Hanzo’s in a tender kiss. His arms wrap around Hanzo, pulling him into a warm embrace, and Hanzo cups Jesse’s face in response, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

“So,” says McCree once they’ve broken apart, brushing Hanzo’s beard with his own. “You sayin’ you’d be interested in sex without all the bullshit science-y influence sometime?” He waggles his eyebrows.

Hanzo doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan. “How can you even be _thinking_ of sex after yesterday?” he sighs, pinching Jesse’s cheek.

Jesse laughs. “Oh, not me, not fer a good long while. I reckon, though,” he adds, smile turning a shade more wicked, “that I have a score to settle.”

“I would like to see you try,” Hanzo says, smiling before he closes the distance between their lips once more.


End file.
